Reawakening
by Jaden Anderson
Summary: "They call me the Hero of Ferelden. The bards sing of my accomplishments. Yet, I remember nothing. " In Death, Sacrifice: words Lox Amell lived by. She gave up everything to save those she loved, only to have the world come rushing back a year later. Now, she and Alistair must work together to unwind the mystery of her resurrection... and of her heart.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Reawakening

Characters: Alistair, Amell, and co.

Author's Note: This is a re-post of a previous story I had written. After some requests, I have decided to edit and bring it back. I hope you enjoy it once again. It was originally in present tense, but I've decided to change it to past, so there are differences. Image is credited to Inveleth.

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_Chapter 1_

There was no knowledge of time, no semblance of form; before this moment, there was simply _nothing_. She was aware of her consciousness, of her existence if it could be called such a thing, but there was little familiarity with her surroundings. A hint of warmth, a faint glow, and a sense of completion was all that lingered. She'd been at peace, and how different that was from now, standing among a lifeless field, the yellowed grass decaying beneath her feet.

So much she was familiar with, from the hot sun baking her skin to the light breeze running through her hair. In the distance, gnarled trees speared the sky, stretching heavenward with their grasping branches. Amidst the rolling hills, shambling carts dotted the land, and above, bruised clouds gathered, dark and heavy with the threat of rain. These, she knew.

But there was much she did not.

A storm was brewing and the dragging shadows eclipsed the land. Her vision blurred as she struggled to peer through them. The light—where had it gone? All that remained were faint sunbeams, stranded among the darkness. A horrid chill jerked up her spine, rippling through her body—

Her body?

As unfamiliar to her as all the rest. Tearing her eyes from the black skies, she studied her extended arm, peering queerly at the length and shape of her fingers. She would think staring down at her own hand, she would feel a hint of recognition, but it was just as foreign to her as the ground she stood upon.

Toes, knees, hips, waist, breast, shoulders, neck, face... all seemed accounted for. Nothing appeared to be missing, beyond the intimacy of knowing the body she touched. With narrowed eyes, her gaze lifted to stare over the landscape, silently studying the rocky outcrops and twined trees. A sense of wrongness swept over her; how could she not know herself?

A sharp and startling voice rose at her back. She whipped around, barely managing to remain upright when her feet snared a thick coil of roots. It was a man that stood behind her, his light eyes and gaping mouth peering out from the shadows of a black woolen hood. For a moment, his lips moved soundlessly and his head swung back and forth as though looking for another. She watched, mesmerized by the smallest things; the way his throat worked as he swallowed, or the slight line that wrinkled his brow when he scowled.

Without warning, his hand snatched through the air. She startled, jerking out of reach, instinctively throwing her arms up to protect herself.

Time stopped, his hand hovering in the distance between them, lips a firm slash. Her breath caught as she watched, waiting for the world to make sense again. Neither spoke; instead his nostrils flared in defiance and he reached once more. Stomach twisting apprehensively, she jumped back, an alarmed shout falling from her mouth.

Her fingers pressed against her lips. Was that _her_ voice? It possessed a much higher pitch than she would have expected. She experimented, grunting primitively before belting out higher pitches, testing her entire range. Regardless, her voice was just as unfamiliar as all else.

A bewildered chuckle reminded her that she was not alone, and slowly, she slid back, hoping to place as much distance between them as possible. With every stolen step, tension mounted in his shoulders, his brows snapping low.

"Wait," he commanded before attempting to catch hold of her once more.

She dove backward, a high-pitched squeak bubbling from her throat. Her muscles bunched and when at last she sprang, it was away from him, her hurried run carrying her over the hills and toward the trees. A panicked shout arose from behind her, but his firm words urged her legs faster.

An ache slowly began to knot her calves as she began a steady incline, straining to reach the peaked hilltop. Whatever lay beyond was unknown; she only hoped there was something that could aid her. It felt as though an eternity had passed before she reached the crest and when she did, she bowed over her knees, her hands pressed into her thighs as she gulped down a lungful of air. Her chest seared as she struggled to slow her shallow breathing, the acrid air burning her lungs. Pausing was foolish, but her body demanded a moment's attention to allow her heart to return to a steady pace.

"Lox!" His voice carried up the hill.

She didn't know this name, didn't know this man, or the land. But she knew fear, she knew darkness, and it would suffice. Swallowing her pains, she launched down the lee-side, biting back her sharp gasps as her calves cramped.

"Lox, stop!" he ordered.

It was the resolution in his voice that gave her pause and spun her around. Standing atop the hill, he blended with the shadows, his forest green cloak set aglow by the barest hint of sunlight peeking out from the thick clouds. Daring a single step forward, he lifted his hands peaceably. "Please, Lox, listen to me. You must—" his voice vanished the moment she resumed her frantic pace.

Thunder rumbled over the land seconds before a crackling energy set her hair up. Lightning speared the far-off hills and her heart thrummed, her desperation beating like a drum in her ears.

"Lox!" That voice continued to chase after, as deep and deafening as the thunder.

Without cover, there was nowhere she could look to in hopes of losing him. The withered forest was her only option, though the wizened trees offered no protection. The extra burst of speed turned her legs soft, but she pressed forward, swiping the cold rain from her eyes. Her only hope was to locate somewhere within to hide, the deadened land notwithstanding.

Diving within, her breath was broken by pained hisses as sharp rocks cut the bottoms of her feet. Brittle branches tore at her hair and cut her skin, and large boulders scraped her legs as she wove through them. The ruthless terrain proved inhospitable, yet terror kept her running.

"Maker's breath, Lox! That is enough!" His words were unfathomable; all she cared about was the distance he continued to gain. Only a matter of time remained before he caught her.

Her breath was haggard, her fear choking, but there was nowhere to hide, and even she knew she couldn't run forever. This _Lox_ he kept repeating, that was what stopped her. That was what convinced her to turn and wait for him to approach. Flush-faced, he jerked to a stop before her, gasping for air. She simply watched him as they both struggled to collect themselves, searching hopelessly for something familiar about him.

Finally, he pushed off his thighs and drew to his full height. A single ray of light cast down from the skies above illuminated his light-colored hair. It was weaved, drawn back in a braided style, though rogue strands fell about his square face, framing his bearded jaw.

He studied her eagerly, his eyes raking over her before he staggered a step closer. "It can't be you," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. Another step, and another, moving forward until she tensed, preparing to bolt once more. He lifted his hands, silently offering her the space she needed to gather her thoughts. "All right," he murmured gently. "This is as close as I get."

The two blades strapped to his side drew her eyes, plucking a thread of worry. Such weapons, such armor, as though he expected an impending battle. The fact that his hands had not once strayed toward them helped her find a semblance of calm.

This man... knew her. _Her_—when she did not. The nest of knots in her stomach grew, drawing forth an anger that raged as deftly as the storm above.

"_Is _it you?" he questioned, ignorant to the small step he dared. Her gaze fell to his feet, watching as he slunk closer, yet she allowed every inch gained in the name of curiosity. Questions tumbled about in her mind and so few answers. The anger she previously recognized vanished to a somewhat confusing veneration. So closely he watched her, his face alight with hope.

"Lox?" he murmured, fingers hovering in the distance between them.

Still, she did not respond. If this was her name, it was just as aberrant as all else. Surely, there must be an explanation. A tremor formed in her knees—this wasn't right.

"Lox?" he called again.

Something soft touched upon her face and she gasped, jerking back. Pain crossed his face as the fingers that grazed her jaw fell back to his side. The two stared silently, oblivious to the chilled rain falling over them.

"Lox!" he shouted above a clap of thunder as those steel clawed fingers captured her arms. "By the gods, would you say something?"

Her teeth rattled in her head when he shook her about, as though he hoped to startle words out of her.

"This is madness—_impossible_—it makes no sense!" He faltered, the pressure from his hands vanishing the moment he broke away and stumbled back from her.

She watched him, her head cocking with his movements.

"Would you just—" He spun so quickly that his sharp gestures drew a gasp from her. "Lox, please—"

"Is that my name?" The words slipped past her lips with little hesitation. To speak was simple, it was the answers she feared. Her fingers pressed into her lips, still shocked by the odd resonance of her voice, soft and sultry at the same time.

"What?" he whispered, his tone softening.

Her fingers fell from her lips as she released a slow breath. "Lox," she repeated, hoping that she spoke the right words. "Is that my name? Is that... who I am?"

She wasn't blind to the pain this question brought; his face darkened, lips a grim line. Awaiting the answer, she pushed back the sodden hair flat against her brow.

"You don't remember," he stated to himself. "No, no, of course not. You wouldn't have run. Not from me."

"Who are you?" The question came freely to her trembling lips before she received an answer to the previous.

But it was this question that seemed to shock him most. Blinking, he watched her closely while he rubbed the thin layer of hair covering his chin. Hands cupped his face and a strangled moan rose from between his fingers.

"I did not mean to—" she whispered, wiping the drops of rain from her face.

He shook his head. "The Maker wouldn't return you to us when we need you most, only for you not to know... not to remember..." he mumbled incoherently. "Only, you're _not_ you. Of course you're not you. _You_ died, I saw your body, I—"

The hiss that slipped past her lips silenced him. He turned to her with wide eyes, as though just realized what he'd said. "By the void, Lox, forgive me, I—"

"Who are you?" she demanded again in a harsher voice as she struggled not to focus on what he'd just said.

"Alistair," he finally answered, his face paling when she showed no sign of recognition.

"I am _not_ dead," she growled, though her voice shook. Was that the cause of all this? It was mad to think that she'd once been dead and now was not.

"Clearly," he whispered, his cheeks filling with heat when his eyes finally dropped her length. Clearing his throat, his finger scratched at the bridge of his nose. "Lox, will you allow me to take you from here? You're sopping wet and not exactly... _dressed _for this sort of weather."

She dropped her gaze to find she was nude. "This is not appropriate?" she questioned, though it was one she knew the answer to. "No," she murmured more to herself. "It is not appropriate to be wandering the wilds naked."

Now aware of her state, a frigid chill swept through her body, the wind cutting to the bone. Ignoring his awkward shuffling, an unknown presence called to her, as though her name was carried on the wind. Her chin lifted as she turned her gaze out to the wasteland of perished trees. A heavy weight burned through her and she was sure she was being watched, but there wasn't a soul beyond the two of them. Everywhere she looked, she was met with death. The grass, the trees, the greyed dirt, not a hint of life.

"What are you to me?" she asked, still searching the shadows for the pair of eyes she could feel watching her.

It would appear he was not prepared for such a question; not that he'd been prepared for any of the others. Eyes fluttering shut, he lifted his hand and pinched the space between his brows. "Lox..." he sighed.

Shaking clear whatever thoughts plagued him, he draped his dripping cloak over her shoulder, his fingers fumbling with the clasp. She turned her gaze up to him, watching as his hands rose from her shoulders to her face, holding it between his palms.

"You'll get wet," she mumbled, mesmerized by the beaded drops of rain sliding down his armor.

"It's fine," he assured her with a slight smile.

She had nowhere else to go. This realization coupled with her immense confusion allowed her to follow in his wake. But with every step, a fresh wave of fear festered in her gut. Here at least had become familiar, from the lifeless soil packed beneath her feet to the whispering trees bent amongst one another. Yet, she followed, lost as to what else to do. Slowly, she fell in behind him, her limp irritating.

He turned and watched her struggle before his eyes narrowed with some unspoken thought. When he approached her, there was a curious light to his face that hadn't been present before. The arm nearest her wrapped tightly around her back and as she glanced at the fingers tightening against her arm, the other slipped below her hips and knocked her knees out from beneath her, hoisting her up in one fluid movement. Gasping, she squirmed in his arms, taking the care to cover herself with the cloak.

"It's a long walk to the horse," he told her. "That alone will be an uncomfortable ride. At the very least, allow me to ease this pain."

She stopped wriggling and drew the edges of the sopping cloak tighter. "Tell me what I am to you," she demanded again.

Still, he didn't offer an answer. Instead, he flashed her a grin before he directed his attention toward some path that he alone knew.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

As they walked, she kept her eyes closed, inhaling one deep breath after another, digging deep for anything that might spark a memory. But no matter how she tried, there was nothing beyond a gaping hole that stripped her to the bone.

Alistair's arms shifted, rousing open her eyes as he lowered her to the chilled earth. Her toes slipped between the damp soils, and she tilted her head back, noticing the sheer size of him. To say he wasn't intimidating would be a lie. At least a head taller, he gazed down on her as though waiting for her to say or do something of interest. Instead, she reached for the horse standing before them, her fingers threading through the soft mane.

Huffing under its breath, the beast lifted a soulful gaze, the familiar muddy brown eyes capturing Lox. It pawed at the ground, its head shifting to the side before the horse slid its muzzle under her already outstretched hand.

"Her eyes," Lox whispered as she studied the beautiful animal. There was something about them, as though she'd gazed into them before.

"His, actually," Alistair murmured, the pain in his voice unmistakable.

Armored feet cut through the grass as he circled her, the weight of his gaze burning through her shoulder blades. Her fingers brushed over the swell of the horse's head, and settled behind his ears, scratching ever-so gently. So soft, so calm and trusting—the perpetual knot in her body loosened and she abandoned her worries to him.

"There's only one," she commented, her gaze lifting over the horse's back to stare over the hardened land.

"Uh… yes," Alistair said. "I wasn't exactly expecting any company."

Her head cocked as she cast him a sidelong glance. What exactly did that mean? He'd come looking for her, had he not?

Clearing his throat, Alistair dropped his gaze to his boots and rocked back on his heels.

"Do you ride out here often?" she questioned, hoping to discern something of use.

A shadow whipped over his face, his gaze darting everywhere but hers. Eventually, he gave a small shrug before dragging a large hand through his disheveled hair. "Uh, well, not often. Occasionally."

She lifted a brow, his vague answer only raising more questions, ones she feared asking. Nibbling her lower lips, she turned and gave her back to the horse, staring up at Alistair. There was nothing familiar about his face, nothing that called out to her. The tapestry of sharp lines was simply that—she saw nothing that roused within any sort of recollection.

"How… how did I come to be here?" she asked, her teeth shredding into her lip.

Alistair turned to stone, his sudden silence condemning. His mouth parted, and with bated breath, she waited, ignoring the horse's impatient nudging at her back.

"How?" she asked again.

Perhaps she should have been annoyed with his reluctance, or anxious for these answers. Instead, she felt nothing. What fear she'd felt when she'd first opened her eyes had long since dimmed, leaving her with little more than a large void consuming her chest.

"Well… what do you remember before this?" he countered with his own question.

Lox paused. It was a harmless question, but one that lacked a simple answer. "Warmth," she said, her voice strained as she struggled to explain _all_ that she'd felt. The overwhelming sensation filled her with something that faded just as quickly. "Light, love. Nothing had form—_I _didn't have form." Her eyes slipped shut, her breath perched on the edge of her lips. "And then suddenly I was aware of time, and the ground was hard beneath my feet. I opened my eyes and here I stood."

"And… you can't remember anything before that?"

Concentrating, her face screwed in a knot as a faint thrum of _something_ tugged at her chest. "There _is_ something," she whispered, her eyes opening to meet his gaze. Alistair nodded, and she watched as a rooted curiousity came alight in his face. "Darkness," she indulged, "and within, a void I couldn't escape."

Horror replaced his light, his hand reaching up as though he meant to touch her. Blinking, Lox moved away, ignoring his sigh when his hand dropped back to his side.

"But there are also words, ones I don't understand." She spoke the anguished words without hesitation—they were the only thing her fractured memories could offer. "_Should you perish, my love, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten, and that one day, I shall join you_."

Alistair sucked in a ragged breath, his jaw tensing. How closely he watched her, the color draining from his face as though the darkness she'd spoken of had stolen it. Turning from her, his hand shook as he reached for the horse.

"This means more to you than me?" she asked.

His lips thinned, and he refused to meet her gaze. Whatever it was, something had upset him. "We should head out," was all she said before reaching for her.

Though he'd carried her to the horse, she still stepped out of his reach, her back flush against the horse. The very last thing she'd intended was to upset him further, but that was exactly what she'd done.

"Lox," he sighed, his shoulders lifting as he sucked in a deep breath. "You can trust me. I would never hurt you."

This from the man that wouldn't tell her who she was to him. "You still haven't told me if that is my name." She watched him closely, hoping to glean _something_ from his reactions.

Grimacing, he rubbed at his brow, his face turned away from the remaining sunlight. "Yes," he said, his voice cracking with emotion. "Lox Amell. That was… _is_, your name."

She knew of past tense, and recalled the words he'd spoken earlier. Her next question was hesitant, her tone unsure, afraid of the impending answer. "I'm… dead?"

His chinned snapped up, pure rage transforming his face. "No," he growled.

"But I was?" A lump formed in her throat. She touched her fingers to her hollow stomach with the hope of calming the uncomfortable churning within. This was not a line of questioning she wanted to follow, yet part of her burned for the answers.

He winced, the stuttered echo of her name an attempt to redirect the conversation.

She repeated her question, her fingers sliding up her length to touch her lips. Though she trembled, she knew she needed this answer. His eyes swept over her, softening when he caught sight of her shivering. Something in his face broke and he forced his gaze away, his fingers fiddling with the edge of the horse's saddle. His answer hovered on his mouth, she could see it, and her breath caught in her throat.

When he finally nodded, a strange sensation twisted her stomach. Her breath quickened, and her mouth moistened. She gave a pained whimper moments before her knees buckled and she dropped to the ground, filth spewing from her lips. Why her body chose now to react was beyond her, but her stomach contracted and it happened again, and again. Hot tears rained down her cheeks, dampening her cracked lips as she bowed toward the earth. An eternity seemed to pass before her senses returned to her, and only then did she realize that Alistair held back her hair.

"I'm sorry," he chanted desperately behind her in a voice heavy with despair. "I'm _so_ sorry."

Brushing away her tears, she pushed to her feet and dragged the back of her hand against her lips. With a last sob, she turned her head up, so lost as she stared up at the sky. She knew of death, knew of the stories that beset such a thing. Images rose to mind of people committed to the ground, or the flames of their pyres burning into the sky.

The dark thoughts morphed into the realization that her body must have been entombed in the soil—wasted and skeletal. Her stomach shrank again and a moan fell from her dry lips as a sense of claustrophobia wracked her.

Alistair's hands were there, spinning her into his chest without pause. For the first time, she didn't refuse him. Instead, she folded into him and took the offered comfort, her tears running down his armor.

"Lox, please," he begged. "Let's just get out of here."

She nodded against him; this was the very last place she wanted to remain. The soil beneath her feet felt tainted, now knowing that it had once been her captor.

Gentle hands lifted her up onto the horse, and he took a moment to ensure the cloak sufficiently covered her. Eventually, he settled in at her back, his arms locking around her waist. It was too close, too intimate for someone she didn't know, and she found herself thankful of the thick layer of metal between them.

He wrapped the reins around his gloved hands and let out a shrill sound. Cringing, Lox bent forward, resisting the urge to cover her ears. And when the horse lurched into a slow gait, her heart sprang into her throat.

"Relax," Alistair whispered, aware of her discomfort. "I've got you."

The movements beneath her were jarring at best. More than once, the steady press of his arms were all that kept her from falling off the horse, and as they moved over the land, she watched the descent of the sun. The storm eventually petered out, but the smothering clouds had yet to let up.

Only in the final moments of the day did she manage to catch a glimpse of the sun, though the light was different than what she could recall—dimmer, sunken. She watched as it faded away and lent a hand to a form of darkness that plucked the very fear from her chest. This she knew—a feeling of encroaching twilight that had eclipsed her senses and stolen her from this world. _That_ she remembered, the one memory she could have done without. Encompassing shadows plundered the land, and shivering, she shrank into Alistair. Somehow, she knew he would keep the darkness at bay.

For a long while, it was just the sound of the horse's hooves thundering over the land, until soon, she began to hear noises at their backs.

"Just the wolves," Alistair reassured her.

She knew wolves, knew of their sharp teeth and slathering mouths, of their bright eyes and malevolent dispositions. But it wasn't wolves she felt behind them. It was something else, something she felt a kinship toward. It began as a slight tingle in her stomach—uncomfortable, but not painful. As though she was being watched from afar, just like within the withered forest. The hair on the back of her neck stood, and her hands unknowingly clenched around Alistair's arms. There was something sinister about this night, from the thick cover of darkness to the odd racket rising in the shadows at their back.

The horse's strides quickened with no encouragement, his anxious huffs of breath steaming in the night evident that _something_ was coming. Her stomach continued to twist, and for a brief moment, she wondered if she was about to be sick again when, instead, she bowed forward with a gasp of pain.

"Lox?" Alistair questioned as he forced the horse to slow. "What's wrong?"

Whispers from unfamiliar voices. They slithered through her head, drowning out his voice. There were no distinguishable words, but still, she felt them. She couldn't _see_ anything, not through the heavy press of night. But she could hear, and something was coming, their heavy steps marching at an unrelenting pace in the backdrop.

"Lox," Alistair called again. "Tell me what's wrong."

"Music," was all she could force out in a raspy voice. It was the only word she could provide to describe the ruthless noise in her head.

He fell still behind her, demanding something she didn't understand. "Where, Lox! Where?"

Lox didn't understand the question. Strange sounds rose from her lips, an echo of the haunting sound in her ears.

Metal slid beneath her palm as Alistair lifted her hand. "Point in a direction, wherever you feel this presence coming from."

Lox shook her head, the ropes of her hair swinging against her back. "Everywhere," was all she offered in a choked whisper.

"Darkspawn," Alistair hissed, as though cursing their existence.

There was no understanding of this word, nor did Alistair offer one. With tapered eyes, Lox struggled to peer into the darkness, her fingers gripping his hands tightly, somehow fearing that he'd vanish on her. She didn't need to know what they were, the eerie music told her everything. She just wanted it to _stop_. Silence and the unknown were better than this, surely.

"Where are they?" he whispered to himself, the folds of night just as frustrating for him. "Lox, can you see them?"

The horse bucked suddenly, and it was only Alistair's strong hold that kept them both atop the beast. Something dark whipped around their side, its form melding into the night.

"Maker's breath!" Alistair struggled to gain control.

Lox stared down, gasping when two peridot eyes flashed at her, before vanishing again. "What was that?"

Alistair moved at her back, his metal shifting as he fought to turn on the horse. "I don't know."

"A darkspawn?" she whispered, rolling the unfamiliar word around on her tongue.

"No, but they're coming."

Not seconds after Alistair dug his heels into the horse's side did a low howl rend the night air. As one, Lox, Alistair, and the horse froze, while in the distance, the sound of fighting rose, a twisted cacophony of howls, roars, and screeches that sundered the once-peaceful silence.

Lox leaned over the horse's head in an attempt to see further. The strange sounds puckered her flesh; such screams that spoke of fury and hate. At that moment, the sea of clouds parted and a thread of silver light spread over the land, just as moonlight drowsed through the trees, illuminating these ghastly horrors that swelled in a horde toward Lox and Alistair. Such monsters—creatures that she knew nothing about tearing over the land. The light touched upon their contorted and deformed faces and reflected off their strange weapons.

But as terrifying as their bawdy faces were, it was the sleek beast battling them that drew Lox's attention, watching as its claws and fangs sank into flesh and bone.

"Let's go!" Alistair shouted over the unnerving noise, yanking on the reins.

It was a massive canine that had attacked these darkspawn, his silken fur one with the shadows as he leapt about and ripped into them. The darkspawn's howls could be heard from where they sat, and she watched in horror as they turned on the hound, their weapons glinting in the silvery night. She stared after the canine, wondering how long it would take for those wretched creatures to kill it. The thought pained her, and she wanted to insist they help him, but fear silenced her words.

Alistair paid little mind to the unfolding scene and instead urged them forward. The horse bucked beneath them and took off, racing in the opposite direction of the nearing battle. It mattered little how hard she fought to peer around Alistair, the thick blanket of clouds smothered the moon and cast the land back into darkness.

There was something about that hound, and those bright eyes that had caught hers before it had raced off to its impending death.

"Just hold on," Alistair directed as he whipped the reins. "We'll be there in a few minutes."

She lost track of time, stolen by the darkness she felt herself falling into. It was everywhere, the music, the whispering, the _need_ to make her way underground—a need she certainly didn't understand. Tears pricked at the corner of her eyes as she longed for the return of the light, something she knew wouldn't return till morning.

Alistair let loose a shrill whistle and she cowered away from it. When she opened her eyes, she caught sight of a sparse light flickering in the near distance.

"Darkspawn!" Alistair shouted to no one in particular.

The horse rocked to a sudden stop and she toppled forward. Something creaked open, another ominous sound in the night. Before she could ask about it, it slammed down before them, the ground shaking beneath the force. Given no chance to look, they look off running again, the horse panting for air as it sprinted forward. Lox curved over his side and she glanced down to find his hooves pounding against wood, the hollow sound chasing after them. Above, firelight finally gave her something to see by, and slowly, a massive fort began to take shape, its towers stabbing into the sky.

Feet rushed toward them with determination and as they rushed forward, a wave of soldiers streaked past. An odd sound that was more familiar to her than anything rose to her ears—a sword being drawn from a scabbard. Alistair was suddenly gone, the void at her back far more distressing than the creatures that had been chasing them. Chaos erupted around her as soldiers began to demand their orders, the voices all belonging to faces she didn't recognize. They were nothing more than silhouettes to her, pale outlines that she didn't know, and the torchlight a few carried did nothing to help.

Whistling pierced the night air, far different than the one Alistair had loosed earlier, yet she knew this sound and her blood ran cold. "No," she whispered, panic clawing free of her throat as she staggered back and sank bonelessly to the ground, watching as the first wave of men fell beneath a hail of arrows. "No!"

The men surrounding her paused, seemingly now only realizing that there was a woman amongst them that didn't quite belong.

"Get back!" one of them shouted, his ironclad hand shoving her down onto the cobble road. A gasp tore from her lips at the feel of the coarse stone grating against her backside. Alistair appeared from nowhere, his angular jaw familiar now even as he growled angry words that sent the soldier marching toward the gate seconds later. When his eyes turned down, he found her huddled in a ball, the cloak hardly concealing her.

"Lox," he murmured as he took a knee before her, taking the time to cover her up. "Do me a favor and just stay here, all right?"

"Arrows," she mumbled. "Not arrows."

The source of this fear was unknown and it only made it hurt that much more. He knew; she could see it in his face, the compassion and tenderness shining out at her.

"Just stay here," he repeated as he fixed her cloak and vanished into the thick folds of the shadows. Lox's jaw dropped, lost to the sight of him disappearing mid-step like that.

The sound of metal on metal deafened her as men rushed forward, meeting the attack of these monsters. She could hear it all; the clashing of blades, the slamming of shields, and throughout it all, their dying cries as one by one, they fell. In her head it was exponentially worse. She could see the spray of their blood, feel the heat of it against her skin, the coppery taste in her mouth.

Wide, unseeing eyes stared up at her from the ground before her, the light already faded from their eyes. Was that how she had looked? Had her body drained of all life? How long had it taken for her skin to grow hard before sloughing off? But one question rose above the others: how long had she been gone? Why she'd chosen now to wonder these things was beyond her. Perhaps it was a response to the man sprawled on the ground only meters before her, obviously dead.

Strange hands curved under her elbows as her attention snapped back to the battle at hand. She was drawn to her feet by fingers that were far too soft to be Alistair's. Slowly, Lox lifted her eyes but it was only another faded outline she saw; a figure as heavily cloaked as she.

"Let's get you out of here," a softly accented voice crooned to her. "Poor thing."

Alistair had said to stay put, and Lox tried to explain such a thing, but the more she thought of it, the less she wanted to. Here, there was too much fighting, too many dying. She didn't want to see anymore, didn't want to imagine how she'd looked in death.

The woman tucked Lox under her warm arm and directed her through a hidden passage. The torchlight flickering beyond the door showed they were about to enter a side entrance to this fort, but little else.

The door yanked open and the woman pushed Lox within, pausing only when a voice rose behind them. "_Braska!_" another heavily accented voice shouted. "What are you doing?"

"Go!" she called back.

Turning back to Lox, the woman continued to guide her within. When the door slammed shut, Lox was alone. _Alone_. When that realization sank in, a panicked hiccup punctuated the darkness. Apparently, no one thought it intelligent enough to light the inner sanctum. Reaching out, her fingers grazed the rough stone of the wall across from her, only half an arm's length away. Too close, much too close. She could feel the walls pressing in on her, the humid weight of the air clogging her lungs. Stale, cold—exactly how she imagined her tomb.

It took a few minutes of convincing herself to go back out the way she'd been brought in. Alistair would be there. But when she shoved open the door, a gnarled face suddenly appeared from nowhere. A short scream fell from her lips as she stared at the creature. _Darkspawn_, Alistair had called it, though their skin was pallid.

She caught the creature's gaze, falling into the crimson depths that looked for all the world like pools of blood. Sharpened teeth caught the sconce light above them and she gasped at the sight of the long fangs shimmering at her. A strange sensation pattered through her chest, as though her heart skipped an entire beat, and she sucked in a sharp breath, creeping away from the creature. Voices rose around her, people screaming and shouting, but it didn't blind her to the oddly contorted weapon the darkspawn lifted.

A growl sounded behind her seconds before a streak of black collided with the darkspawn that hovered before her, about to plunge its tainted blade into her flesh. Bedlam erupted—soldiers rushing about, their blades clenched tightly, Alistair leading the way—but it wasn't them Lox stared at; rather the massive canine from before, out in the fields that had led them here.

The battle was over quick, but the hound stood over the creature, his claws shredding the darkspawn's face into thin ribbons. When it was nothing more than a smear against the stone, the hound rose and turned, his viridian eyes burning into hers.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

A quiet malevolence came from the warriors that circled them. Lanterned light shone off the edge of their silver-tipped blades, all aimed in every which direction as though awaiting a final assault. Her eyes, however, were for the beast. His maw fell open and he bared his teeth, allowing everyone watching an eyeful of his thick fangs. She could only imagine the countless numbers of beasts, darkspawn, and even men that might have fallen to those powerful jaws. It seemed the surrounding men meant nothing to him—it was _her_, shivering in Alistair's arms that he watched.

"Thanks, Kell." Alistair's voice rose in the night before he bowed over her, hushed words of comfort passing between them.

She wanted to listen, to take the sentiment down deep and use it to quell her fear and anxiety, but she couldn't tear her eyes away from the hound. As if from a dream, she felt as though she should know this animal, with its intent stare.

Crouching low, the hound perked his black-tipped ear, as though straining to listen to Alistair. The soldiers hardly paid the massive beast a glance, all studying the thick shadows. This was the hound that had whipped around their horse out in the fields before rushing into the fray and slaughtering as many of those filthy creatures as possible. This was the beast that had plucked her from death's path before shredding the darkspawn into little more than a smear. Without him, it would have been a river of _her_ blood flowing over the stone.

With her gaze trained on him, the beast's jaw fell open and he loosed a deep howl, his mouth working as he released an endless stream of barks, as though he was speaking in these senseless noises.

Alistair's words were like the breeze, brushing over her as she focused on the hound.

With all the complacency of a housebroken animal, he dropped down onto his stomach, his eyes and ears primed for her. Every muscle in his body twitched, right down to his stub of a tail.

"You saved me," she murmured in an empty voice.

From the corner of her eye, she watched Alistair wince, his eyes tapered with pain as he turned toward her. Crouching, she repeated her statement, but offered nothing more than that. One-by-one, the soldiers turned toward her and the hound, their veneration unsettling her nerves.

Alistair stepped forward, his gloved hand coming down on her arm. It was a greater challenge than she would have liked to hold under his touch and not to shy away.

"I thought I told you to stay put," he scolded, his tone sharp from fright, giving her a slight shake.

Lox grimaced, her arms limp at her sides. A shadow moved next to her as the hound rose to his feet, ears pinned back as he eyed Alistair carefully. Whatever this beast was, there seemed to be a connection between them, one that Lox found perplexing.

"A woman led me away," she mumbled, her voice drifting off as her gaze strayed to something over than the beast.

Without another word, she moved effortlessly over the ground, the hem of Alistair's cloak dragging through the bloody remains. Her slow steps carried her toward the nearest soldier. A shining symbol caught her attention, spiring the width of his breastplate. Silvered armor met her fingertips as she traced a familiar emblem.

"You recognize that, don't you?" Alistair questioned.

Jaw setting, her gaze settled across the nebula, ignoring his question. Whatever familiarity she felt, she had no words for it. Instead, she watched as the soldiers retreated back behind the stone walls of their fortress with their swords sheathed.

"Alistair!"

Together, the beast and Alistair jerked, both studying the two shadows venturing closer. Cursing under his breath, Alistair grabbed Lox by the shoulders and spun her around, lifting the thin hood over her head and dragging the hem down over her eyes. His hands made quick work of her hair, tucking the begrimed tresses into the dark folds of the cloak and repositioning her so that she was staring at the ground.

"Not a word about her," Alistair ordered the surrounding men. "We will make the announcement inside. I will hear nothing of this until that moment."

The crowd surrounding them dispersed, their glances lingering on her for as long as possible before they vanished back into the darkness. A weight lifted from her shoulders, and finally able to take a full breath, she peered down at the hound from her cover, wondering who this beast was to her.

"Darkspawn, Alistair?" the woman's accented voice from earlier questioned.

Their conversation filled the air, but neither Lox nor the hound paid any heed. Perhaps Alistair knew her relationship with this creature, though even she felt she could trust him. Mindless animal or not, he had proven himself loyal.

Sensing her attention on him, the hound crept toward Lox, his belly dragging against the blood-slicked stone. All wondered what it would be like to touch him, to run her fingers through his cerulean fur. Though she didn't understand their link, she still felt it. His head sat at her waist, but her fingers lay lifeless at her sides. Even when his old nose touched her hand, she simply stood before him, shivering in the damp wool.

Alistair's voice interrupted Lox's aimless staring. "Could you two give me a half hour? In that time, I'd like for you to round up our comrades and bring them to the meeting chambers."

"What is it, Alistair?" the woman asked, her voice soft and lilting.

"I promise I'll explain, but right now, I just need you to do what I asked."

The two vanished before Lox could give them a quick glance. Once alone, Alistair turned back to her and began to guide her into the fort.

"Where now?" she asked from the depths, aware of the hound's pursuit behind them.

With a sad smile, Alistair led them within the stone fortress, his soft words of dry clothing all he offered.

It was a rather small room she was led into. The door closed behind them with a soft click before Alistair directed her toward a small bed and guided her down. They weren't alone and her eyes fell once more to the hound perched before the door as though guarding it, before returning to staring off at nothing.

Lox listened as Alistair shuffled around the room, but for all purposes, she couldn't pull her gaze from the spindly cracks webbing across the wall before her. Her hands trembled against her thighs; she couldn't make them stop. All she saw was the face of that... _creature_ and the smell of its putrid breath. Such ragged, pale faces with those soulless eyes that had stared right through her, as if it knew her.

Alistair fumbled through a chest, searching for something when the question she wanted to ask fell from her lips. "Is this the Void?"

Tension mounted within the room, both Alistair and the beast jerking as if struck. Alistair straightened and a sound of pain fell from his lips. His fingers rubbed at his brow as though trying to erase an unpleasant memory. "What?"

"The Void," she repeated. "I... think this must be the Void. The light, it was warm, it was..." She waited for tears to spring to her eyes, but they remained as dry and lifeless as the rest of her. "That creature. The darkness. The foul air. Even the light is fading. I was _dead_. You _said_ I was dead." Her voice rose, deafening in the small confines of the room.

The beast rose to his feet, pacing the short length, his head whipping about anxiously as though he could understand her words.

"Now..." Her breath hitched in her throat, but she had to know. "Is this the Void?" The truth of what she wanted to know finally slipped from her lips. "Has the Maker cast me away? Did I do something—"

"_Lox_," Alistair whispered as he crouched before her and brushed his fingertips against her cheek. "I—I don't have the answers to these questions."

Her eyes dropped to the floor, ignoring the angry beast and Alistair and instead watching the dust settle around her toes. There was only so much she could handle. She just wanted to return to the light; that was all that mattered.

"You know these words? The Void and the Maker ?" he murmured as his brows screwed into a knot.

Blinking, she stared across the room. She _did_. The Maker was their creator. All He loved were said to walk next to his side for all eternity. Those He did not were cast into the Void, where unmentionable torture and foul creatures awaited them. _How _she knew this, and nothing else, she didn't know.

"I'm cold," she whispered and her body obeyed by trembling with a chill.

"All right," Alistair sighed. "I can help with that, if only I can find where they put the blighted trunk."

Alistair crossed the room again in quick steps, though his place was taken quickly by the beast, sitting before her with an odd light to his eyes. Ignoring him, she returned her attention to the wall. Minutes passed as she listened to Alistair dig about a small closet. It wasn't until he dragged a hefty chest out that she turned to him. The latched popped with little more than a quick flick of his fingers and he reached in, removing whatever lay atop and spreading it across the mattress. Gentle hands clasped hers and guided her up to her feet.

"Do you think you can...?" he drifted off, pointing down at the garments.

Nodding, Lox allowed him to give her his back before she unclasped the sodden cloak and slipped on the clothes he'd lain out. The fabrics were warm as she slid them over her skin, something she was actually grateful for. Slowly, feeling returned to her numbed flesh and a small sound from her throat turned Alistair back around.

"Better?" he asked as he circled her, his hands grazing her neck as he drew her hair out from under the top.

She nodded.

"It's a lot longer," he murmured. "Your hair."

"Was it not this length before—" she asked, finding it difficult to finish the sentence.

"No."

She didn't ask after the previous length; she could hear in his voice that he didn't enjoy this particular topic of conversation. Not that she did, either.

Alistair stepped around her and reached for something beyond the chest. Its length was equal to him and he grunted as he lifted a gilded frame and turned it toward her, only the elegant swirls were not what caught her eye. There stood a woman, her face as unfamiliar as everything else. Lox's hand rose from her side and she brushed her fingers down the cold cheval glass, and as she did, so did the woman's facing her. This was _her_.

Her chest hitched the moment her fingers smoothed down the arc of her lips and traced the softly curved chin. She did not know this woman with the wheat colored hair and pale blue eyes. Following the outline, her fingers worked their way over the face peering back and down the thin neck. Sinewy shoulders gave way to a small breast and long waist now covered by a fur-lined vest with a motley of pockets. Long legs were wrapped in a pair of dark form-fitting leggings, with leather strapped boots that began at the knees and followed the swell of the calves.

Her eyes swept back up the length, noting the streaks of dirt that ran down her face in thin rivulets. The rain had done little to remove the blackened streaks that darkened her pallid skin. Ever her fingernails were embedded with soil. Her hands fisted the moment she realized that the soil that had once held prisoner her body still debased her skin.

A small sound fell from her lips, one of pure unadulterated disgust and she squeezed her eyes shut. The room spun, the walls closing in around her as the image of being entombed surfaced. Cool fingers touched upon her face, and her eyes flew open to find Alistair gently wiping at her face with the sodden cloak, removing the stains she found so offensive. It mattered little; it was still there, packed under her fingernails.

Obvious that the mirror had upset her, Alistair quickly removed it, turning the looking glass away from her when her heated glare followed it.

"I have... one more thing for you," Alistair said as he approached the chest once more. He flipped the lid open and began rummaging through, a small sound of triumph falling from his mouth when his fingers closed around something. Drawing to his full height, he turned and extended his arm, proffering a long wick of wood within his hand. Lox studied the staff he held, her eyes following the interweaving branches until it circled a lackluster bauble perched upon a warped head. Dropped into her palm, her eyes closed as she handled the smooth and polished wood, carrying a weight she hadn't expected, but it was simply wood.

"Nothing," he muttered, frowning at the inert bauble atop the staff. "I don't understand..."

Ignorant of what he'd expected, she spanned the distance between them, her proffered arm returning the wick. With a dejected sigh, he took it from her, holding it between his hands.

Slightly overwhelmed, she turned back to the chest, pausing at a different sight; a flash of color, rich crimson petals folding over one another. Her shoulder brushed Alistair's as she reached down into the chest and extracted it.

"A rose," she said softly, lifting it until she caught the sweet scent.

Both the hound and Alistair shuffled awkwardly but when Lox turned, Alistair's face was schooled to hide whatever emotions lay beneath. For some odd reason, it was the beast that caught her gaze, his paws anxiously shifting against the stone floor as he watched her, a strange glow illuminating his chartreuse eyes.

"I'm sorry," she murmured to Alistair. "I shouldn't have removed it. It's lovely."

She handed the flower back to him and was about to turn when the beast began whipping his head avidly back and forth. Even Alistair looked a touch distraught as he glanced down at the other items within the chest.

"This causes you pain?" she asked.

"_Yes_," his voice was dark and heavy with anger. "Maker, yes."

"Is it because of me?" There was something about the way he watched her, as though at any moment he expected her to jump up and proclaim that she could remember everything again. Every passing moment that she didn't seemed to put him further on edge.

"Lox, _no_." He sighed, his shoulders drooping like the flower his fingers still lingered on. "It's just... if only you could understand what this means, to have you back among us. I thought I'd lost my entire family—I _had_ lost my entire family. To come across you standing there... I don't understand how you're here, or if it's permanent." He groaned, his hands rising to cup his face. "Maker, please let it be permanent."

"Permanent." She rolled the word around on her tongue. "You're afraid I'll be taken again?"

His fingers tightened around the stem of the rose. Even in the dim light of the room, she could see when a rubied drop of blood slid down between his fingers. Without thought, she reached for him, her hands cupping his, but there was nothing familiar about it. Gently, she opened his fingers and plucked out the thorn before wiping at the small wound with the damp cloak.

"Yes," he choked out, his shoulders rounded as he brought his hand close to his chest. "There is nothing I fear more right now than you being taken again. I... I don't know what we would do."

"We?" she repeated. Her eyes scoured Alistair's face; it was strange that someone could have such a strong bond with her when she felt... _nothing_. The words never left her lips, but Alistair slumped and turned to place the rose back.

A quiet cry rose from the beast and Lox's eyes dropped the distance between them. How closely he watched her, an intent scrawled into his face that she couldn't read. He lifted to his feet, his steps slow as he crept toward her.

"Come on," Alistair beckoned. "The others are likely waiting for us by now."

Her heart rushed forward and her breath caught. His fingers found empty air where her arm had been as she backed away, stopping only when the mattress met her knees. "I don't want to meet anyone else," she whispered, swallowing past the lump lodged in her throat.

"We have to," he told her with calm words. "If I don't tell people that you've returned..."

"Who?" she demanded under her breath.

His head cocked. "People who knew you," he told her. "Who loved you."

"Then they'll know me like you do. And I won't know them."

"It... seems likely," he told her as he lifted his hand called her forth.

Shaking her head, Lox tucked back, hiding beneath the curtain of hair that slid around her face. "No."

Silence spread between them. Sensing the tension, the beast walked forward, standing between them, his eyes all for Alistair.

"I know you're scared," Alistair murmured. "As am I. But it's not fair to hide you from them. If the situation were reversed, I would want them to inform me."

"Alistair," she whimpered. More eyes, more questions, more people, and just when she was starting to feel comfortable. This was not what she wanted.

"Shh," he crooned to her as he reached for her once more. "No one will hurt you. I wouldn't let them. And they wouldn't want to anyway. Trust me."

It wasn't that she feared them hurting her, that was furthest from her mind. It was the entire situation as a whole. These people meant nothing to her; their faces, their voices, they were strangers. What good would it do her to meet them? Her mouth opened, but no words came out as Alistair led her from the room with the beast at her heels.

They slipped out the door and weaved through the bustling corridor. Soldiers marched back and forth, nodding to Alistair in passing, while more than one stumbled in their path at the sight of Lox, their mouths falling open as they stared confoundedly. Alistair slung his arm around her shoulder and drew her into his chest, his words heated as he ordered the soldier's back to their posts.

"Maybe we should have kept the cloak," he muttered.

"Are these more people I should know?" she asked.

"No." He released a sigh and cast her a sidelong glance. "You've never been to Weisshaupt."

Her eyes studied the whitewash walls and stone slates. "Then how do they know me?"

Had his arm not been draped around her shoulder, she might not have felt him stiffen. He held his tongue, apparently another question that was to go without an answer. They continued to walk in silence for what seemed like an eternity with how much there was to see. Vaulted ceilings, stone columns, rooms upon rooms filled with books, weapon stacks, armor stands; it was all overwhelming to take in.

Alistair's arm dropped away and he turned, his dark gaze burning into hers. "I want you to stay out here for a moment. Can you do that for me?"

"Alone?" she asked, her eyes jumping to endless stream of soldiers circling them like vultures.

With every corridor they took, their followers seemed to grow in number. Ardent murmurs take to the air, her name whispering from between their lips. The thought of being left behind to the devices of these people stole her breath.

Alistair's eyes leapt over her head, his narrowed eyes crackling with unspoken anger. A sudden clamor boomed through the corridor when the soldier's came to attention. Lox gasped and pushed closer to Alistair, gazing upon the encircling battalion, all donning the same armor as the soldier's from outside; their chests emblazoned with the same heraldry. Yet another beast, it seemed, that spired their armor, the wings spreading out into oblivion.

"A griffin," Alistair murmured, offering a faint smile when she turned back toward him.

Voices came from the room behind them in a clamor that suggested quite a few sat within, awaiting. She turned with Alistair, cringing when he reached for the door. Soldiers to her back, and now her front; she was overwrought with everything happening around her. The only benefit was the one face she felt somewhat comfortable with was at her side.

"Just stay behind me," he told her. "They're going to see you either way, but... I'd like a chance to explain some things to them first."

Nodding, she allowed him to step before her and she was reminded of the sheer size of him. The expanse of his back was large enough that she slipped within his shadow before following him inside.

"Alistair," someone greeted him. Lox responded to the gentle tone; the woman from outside.

Alistair's hands fumbled for the door and Lox assisted him, closing it with a faint click. The voices of the soldier's beyond dimmed and only at the last moment did she realize the beast had snuck in with them, his head dropped as he scoped the room.

"I'm sure you're all wondering why I've called this meeting," he started.

"No," the other voice laughed; the other male from out in the courtyard. "Darkspawn tend to bring these meetings out of us."

A smattering of chuckles rose in the room.

"Actually, that's not why you're here." The room fell silent and Alistair shuffled awkwardly, his hands crossing behind his back and fetching hers. "I'm sure we all remember what day today is."

Lox perked an ear, hoping to glean a little information herself. Of course, she had no idea what day today was and she feared speaking up to ask.

"Of course," the woman sighed. "Today is the first anniversary of Lox's death."

The room swayed; perhaps it shouldn't have anymore, but the thought of her death, tomb, and the soil, all of it was utterly disturbing. As much as she was ignorant to, death was not one of them. All creatures fell to such a disease, and _never_ did they return.

"I went to..." Alistair stumbled over his words, "her... tomb," he finally choked out. Both cringed together. If there was ever a place she did not want to think about, it was there.

"Oh, Alistair," the woman caroled. "That is something you should have friends with you for. We all know what she meant to you, but that doesn't mean you must face that alone."

"I know, Lel," he said. "But that's not the point of this."

"Then what is?" a deeper voice asked.

"I was shocked to find her..." he faltered again, "tomb had been raided. Cracked stone, toppled statues, a right mess."

An uproar swept through the room, such angered voices unlike anything else. Chairs scratched against the ground as they were knocked backwards, and feet pounded against the stone as they began to pace. Her brows snapped down as she listened to the response of these people.

"There was something else," Alistair continued.

The noise dimmed, the trepidation in the room palpable. Lox knew what was coming next.

"Lox was gone."

Gasps, shocked cries, shouting, cursing, all lifted to her ears in harmony. It was difficult to figure where one voice ended and another began. What shocked her most was the sound of soft crying; likely the woman. She wondered who _she_ was to her—who all these people were to her, that they would become so enraged at the thought of her tomb ransacked.

"We must set out immediately," the first male said. "Who knows what vileness..."

Alistair impeded them, his hands vanishing from hers as he held them in the air peaceably. "Understandably, I was angry. I followed the tracks. It took me hours to find where they'd left her—"

"_Left_ her!" someone shouted. "_Left _her?" A fresh bout of anger whipped through the room, and amidst came a strangled shout and angry steps leading around the room. Someone was pacing.

"Yes. Except when I found her..." he hesitated once more.

These were the events leading up to him finding her. Thoughts took wing in her mind; how long had he stood there, watching her, before she'd realized? Had he been watching that entire time, waiting to see what she would do? Had she reawakened as a result of her tomb being desecrated? How did she come to be there at all? And why?

"What, Alistair?" the woman questioned, her voice quivering with emotion.

His hesitation was contagious. What could he say to them that didn't sound mad? But the last thing she expected was for him to simply step aside at that moment. One moment she was staring at the back of his creased leather, the next a room _full_ of people, far more than she'd thought would be present. So many eyes were on her and an itch slowly crept beneath her skin. _Run, hide,_ these were the words screaming through her head, anywhere they wouldn't find her.

As one, they all turned toward her, faces devoid of any emotion beyond shock. From face to face her gaze flicked and she was disappointed—and frustrated—to learn that not a single one of them was familiar.

"Alistair," Lox whispered, her fear getting the best of her.

"Shh," Alistair crooned under his breath.

"Sweet Andraste," the woman—Lel as Alistair had called her—whispered, her hand cupping her throat as she stared at Lox.

Another stood next to her and when he spoke, she realized it was the accented man from earlier. "This is not possible."

"It's a demon," someone stated. "How foolish are you? You bring a demon into our fortress simply because it looks like your lost lover?"

Lox's breath caught, her eyes swinging up to Alistair's. _Lover?_ This was too much, she couldn't process it all. She'd asked him out in the fields what she was to him and he'd evaded the question. She hadn't known what to expect, but this… hadn't been even a thought.

"A demon?" someone repeated.

The room fell silent again. A demon? The idea drew her mind away from Alistair. Was that what she was? All she knew of this word was the sense of evil that overcame her. A slight dent furrowed her brow as she dropped her gaze down to her hands, wondering if that was what she was. When she looked up, another had come to stand before her; _another _face did not know.

Russet eyes studied her, swimming in an angular face with a long, slender nose. His hair was drawn back into a sloppy plait and a fine stubble darkened his jaw. But it was the shimmer of gold looped through his ear that drew her attention. Nothing more than a bauble, yet she couldn't stop herself from reaching out and touching it. She knew it to be an earring, but there was something about this small piece of jewelry that called to her.

Lost to the shimmering trinket, a faint blue light lit beneath his skin. Gasping, she instinctively shrank against Alistair, but the other reached for her first, his hands falling on her shoulders and directing her attention back to him.

Warmth bathed her skin and her first real smile played across her face as her eyes slowly fluttered shut. _This_ was a feeling she knew. She awaited the blanketing light, praying for its quick return. Something familiar, something _wanted_, something... it faded, and her eyes snapped open, her heart shattering when darkness slid over her skin, leaving only the dim firelight to light the room. She'd thought for a moment... but no.

"Sweet baby Andraste!" the man before gasped, a startled laugh falling from his lips. The swirls of blue vanished with a sharp and his hands swept down her arms, gathering her hands in his. "She's not a demon! I've no idea what's going on!"

Alistair pressed into her side, his hands falling down on her shoulders. Her chest tightened; there were too many people touching her at once.

"I don't know, Anders. I was riding down a hill, watching the tracks, and a flash of light blinded me. When I was able to see through it, all I saw was her."

The voices lifted again in another uprise, only now disbelief had replaced the initial anger. More and more of these faces closed in on her, all demanding questions she couldn't answer. She clung at Alistair's arm, slowly sliding back behind him. It'd been safer there.

Clearly not the response they'd expected from her, they all turned to Alistair, questions brightening their eyes.

"What's wrong?" Lel asked, her steel eyes watching intently.

Alistair tried to coerce her from out behind him, but she wouldn't be corralled. Finally, he turned back to his companions. "She has no memory."


End file.
